


has no one ever loved me? (I Did, I Did, My Dear)

by The_Otter_Knight



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Another Story spoilers, Day 9 Branch, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I swear, It’s happy, Kissing, Light V/MC, Little Dialogue, Maybe - Freeform, Minor mention of Ray, Moving On, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past V/Rika - Freeform, Platonic Kissing, Stockholm Syndrome, Unrequited V/Main Character, V Route Spoilers, V was Friendzoned, gender neutral reader, getting better, spoilers for v route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 00:26:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12593944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Otter_Knight/pseuds/The_Otter_Knight
Summary: Rika is always kind to you, always bright, it is hard to believe what V tells you about her. But the moon cannot shine without the sun, can it?





	has no one ever loved me? (I Did, I Did, My Dear)

**Author's Note:**

> I’m gay for Rika. That is not an excuse it is a reason.

Rika is the epitome of kindness, her words liquid gold and spill from her mouth like a fountain. The words she speaks are parts of a song - one of your favourites, perhaps, stuck on repeat. It is easy to see the good in her, to see how brightly she views the world, how gently she cups flowers and holds your hand. Your name is a sigh from her lips, something soft and kind. Like .. marshmallows or kittens. Rainbows and clouds and butterflies. It is hard to see the disaster that V promises her to be, to see her anger and her hatred.

But you can, and that is the saddest thing. She isn’t prone to anger, but her fingers can clutch too hard and snap a flower’s head clean off, and she is careless and brushes aside cups until they shatter across the ground, warm milk foaming across it. Her eyes are shimmery green, a fire uncontainable. She does not hit you or yell at you. She does not blame you nor imply anything is your fault. She is upset that she cannot help everyone.

You only want to help _her._

And when she screams, it is with the anguish of a dying man. Hysteria foams at the edge of her voice, hands feral as she clutches at herself. Shoulders shaking and tears pooling from her eyes - giant whopping crocodile tears, but genuine in that she can’t stop and feels all the pain. Her cries echo along the basement and you feel the emotion deep in your chest.

_”Did no one ever love me?”_

The thing is, the more you think about it and about what you know - her birth parents gave her up, unwilling to keep her or unable to, and her adopted parents hate her for reasons unknown to you and the very love that she thought that she has _finally_ been given... In that awful moment, you hate V for doing that to Rika. You hate him with as much as you can muster.

But then you look over and see him, sweat making his hair damp and curly, gaze shaky and unfocused, pupils dilated horribly. He’s sweating and he’s snorting and wheezing and he’s gross but Rika also allowed for him to become that. She _ordered_ it. Perhaps you could forgive her for it, but you could not forget.

Then the other man steps in, tall and languid with tall strides and is quick to help you carry V out. His trademark glasses and high voice is enough to recognize him as Seven, the man you had spoken to before. What is not easy, however, is to not stare behind you at the weeping girl as you make your getaway. Because in that moment - that is all she is, a girl tormented and unloved by the world that she fought so bravely to save, even when her demons finally consume her.

The days after are slow and tense. V is delirious from the drugs and he touches and pats your hair with an equally unsteady gaze. He does not ask you to stay but you do anyways. You brush back his hair and fold a damp cloth against his forehead and wish him well. You pray as well, if you believe that it will help. Vanderwood is torn between looking at the pictures and helping V filter the drugs out, but his eyes are also on you.

To see V like this hurts your heart - he looks like a child, young and fragile in this bed, mouth gaping and cheeks flushed. There is no healthy glow to him, only a sickly pallor that makes your hands tremble. He sometimes grabs them and utters a name that isn’t yours and will never be yours. It does not hurt but you pity him all the same.

Rika is quiet in the chat rooms - not that she types few and far in between, but she isn’t as vibrant as she is in life. You miss her - the one that you knew. This Rika is broken, little fragments caught between who she is and who she wants to be. The RFA is catching themselves on her broken edges and her words feel like wounds. It is easy for Seven to be wary of her, to Jumin to not acknowledge her.

Yoosung and V seem to be the only ones who recognize her for who she is beneath the shattering glass. But even their views are skewed - they do not love her as you do. You, too, wish to help her - to deny some truths about her. It is easy to love her, to look into the sun and be blinded by its brightness and its warmth. Love should never be easy, but with her it is.

You don’t confront her in the chats when she shows up, don’t belittle Mint Eye or what she is trying to do. You don’t actively defend her, either, though. You offer her comfort, pleas for her to listen to you. _”I want to help you, Rika.”_ To help Rika is to help Ray and the Mint Eye as a whole and while that is all well and good for a Samaritan to do, it is only her that you are truly concerned for.

When Rika texts you, she tells you how much she wants to brush your hair and your response is a shy “Next time” and it is promise. When she calls you, her voice is sunlight against your ear and you excuse yourself outside, voice quiet and fond as you breathe the evening air. _”I can wait for you to change your mind,”_ she promises you. On the night she compares you to the moon, you stare up and whisper, _”It is you.”_

Where Rika is the sun, you are the moon, and together the eclipse is blinding.

Rika curses V, loud and violent but you soften her edges, take the broken glass remains and smooth them down. They do not fit together as neatly as if you left her broken but she cannot cut herself this way. She is _whole_ this way. Her voice gets softer on the phone, a thrum in your blood and a promise to Ray and to her at the forefront of your mind. She gets softer in the chats, still promising them ever lasting peace and freedom but she never tries to convince you. You already know that she has you.

_”I hope you change your mind tomorrow,”_ she tells you at one point and you whisper, too soft for her to hear,

_“I had never wanted to go.”_

Vanderwood is quick to notice you, to notice your flighty heart and fumbling phone. _“I thought you liked him,”_ and while V is a good man with a good heart he is not the one for you. You love Rika and you tell him so. Stockholm Syndrome isn’t quickly ruled out but it eventually is - and they keep quiet about the shortcomings of your heart, of who you will choose if someone prompts you.

The sad thing is, you recognized the brokenness in Ray on that first day and it had led you to the place of new beginnings - twisted and mangled and horrid to look at. You cannot help but feel weak and powerless to help but there, inside the Mint Eye, you felt like you could make a difference. Rika let you feel as though you _were_ someone, and you are - to her. You are afraid that you will tire of broken toys and irreparability, but each day that Rika calls you, you are firmly aware of the heat in your blood. A sunflower can never turn away from the sun. Rika has that childish fear of remaining unloved but you whisper the words so fondly you hope that she understands.

V gets better, his vision clear - clear _er_ \- and a fondness for you present in the way his mouth softens into a smile. You help him drink water, tuck the straw next to the corner of his mouth and pat his hair back. You do not scold him for his idealistic love for Rika and he makes no mention of how placid you are in the chat rooms about her. He does not confront you, but his eyes are kind and sad. You do not understand the sun in relevance to him - he soothes, never burns, and belongs to the sea. Gentle on the eyes, you are sure in the fact that he is the Earth - but the sun and moon will always be closer together, no matter how much things orbit.

V understands your love for Rika but does not admit that he wishes it is him. You can see it in his eyes and when you kiss him on the forehead then the lips it is nothing but goodbyes left unspoken. In another lifetime, you could love him... just not this one. He is beautiful but you can only ever see the moon because of the sun’s warm glow - you will need Rika more than you will ever need him.

When you both go for a walk, feet light and gentle breezes on your faces, you take it all in. He thanks you, a somber sound in the wind, a hoarseness to his voice. You do not cup his face and breathe into him apologies, but your hugs are fierce and your fingers thread together at his back. He is warm and so are you and together it feels wonderful.

The talk is quiet and peaceful and he is slow to remind you to head back to the cabin. You catch a glimpse of sunlight from the corner of your eyes and sigh. You refuse to go.

Rika steps out, hair like spun gold and eyes ribbons of green. In another lifetime, she will wield her tongue like a viper and her words like fangs. In that lifetime, it will be easy to be swallowed whole by the python of her insanity. In another, you might have left and her hands will stain red, knife loose in her grips. In another, she will not come at all and V’s love will be blinding and all consuming. In this one, her eyes are wet and she has to blink back unshed tears. In this one, her gaze flits from V to you and stays there. In this one, you tell her the words she desperately wants to hear.

But for now, you swoop forward and press your palms to her cheeks. The small of her hands fold along your back and her own arches, face draping into your shoulder and hair a golden waterfall. Her height does an impressive disservice but it is all _her._ You never have to ask her who she came for that night. Her words will echo the response to her question.

“You’ve made your choice?”

“It has always been you.”

You pull back long enough to press your lips against her forehead, then each eye, nose and finally her mouth. Her eyes will flutter closed and her breath will fan out across your face, a shudder that you can feel in her bones. “In the world where nobody loved you,” you echo her words from before and her breath hitches. “I always will.” And when you press your lips to her hair you add with as much love and affection as you can muster, something beautiful and bold beating in your lungs, you confess, “I will always go with you. It was never a choice for me.”

The road to redemption will never be easy, not for her or for you when you follow her down that path, but like the dawn - the sun will rise again.


End file.
